Give It All
by thewickednix
Summary: Malfoys do not lose face. Except when faced with Harry Potter. -- One-shot, mirror-story of Given, from Draco's Pov.


**Title:** Give It All  
**Author:** thewickednix  
**Pairing:** Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Categories:** One-Shot, Slash  
**Warnings: **Hate!Sex, Adult Language  
**Words: **2 700  
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Summary:** Malfoys do not lose face. Except when faced with Potter.  
**  
**_DISCLAIMER:_ _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._  
**  
Author's notes: **Mirror-story of Given. Draco's Pov.

* * *

You had always envied him. You grew up hearing stories of the Boy Who Lived, constantly surrounded by the image of the perfect saviour of the Wizarding world.

Then you saw him for the first time, that day five years ago. The small, skinny boy with the messy inky hair and the broken glasses. And you wondered; who was he to save anyone?

It was not the first time the image of your dreams had been crushed. And it would not be the last. But what really got to you was what happened afterwards.

No matter how weak and feeble he may have seemed, no matter how many mistakes he made, everyone seemed to adore that famous brat. Time after time he broke the rules, and time after time Dumbledore got him off the hook. And as if the preposterous accommodations made for him weren't enough, he managed to beat you at the one thing you had to be proud of. He took away the one thing you were good at, the one thing you had done without the help of your name or social status.

Potter is the youngest Seeker in one hundred years. And you still cannot beat him once, no matter how hard you try.

You hate him endlessly. The boy who can do no wrong, the boy who everyone loves and admires, they boy who makes the entire world his reflexion without even trying.

The boy who once had the audacity to refuse your outstretched hand of friendship.

Determined to punish him for his insolence, you proceed to haunt him. Year in and year out you do everything in your power to make his life miserable, to make him feel, even for a second, the disappointment and failure that being faced with him awakes in you. But nothing seems to touch that boy. He flies through life, one day fucking things up and the next day being saved miraculously by Dumbledore or his followers. And in his stupidity Potter doesn't even realise how lucky he is, but mopes around like the biggest martyr of all.

You do not pity him. Because he is a fool who doesn't realise that with great privileges comes great sacrifices. But sometime over the time you keep watching him, following his every move, taunting him whenever you can, something besides loathing awakes within you. You find your hate suddenly mirrored in another feeling, a feeling even more despicable, dark and destructive than hate. It fills your lungs, blends with your blood, twists in your stomach and entwines itself around your heart until you feel you cannot breathe without him.

But you bury yourself in schoolwork and mischief, never allowing your hidden shame to surface, except during the solitary hours of the night when you lie alone in your bed. You swear and you cry and you curse that damned boy by the name of Harry Potter who dares to make your life so miserable. But by morning it will all have disappeared, and no one will ever see a sign of your insomnia and heartwrench behind that proud mask you create upon your face. And for some reason that gives you pleasure; you thrive in the knowledge that among many, this is your greatest secret.

You keep it for so long it becomes a part of your soul, so long that you could not imagine your own existence without it. You challenge yourself in how close you can get to Potter without revealing your hidden agenda, and find yourself endlessly frustrated those days that he doesn't notice you, those days that he is too occupied with saving the world to recognise your taunting presence.

Being constantly jealous of the entire universe is exhausting, and you need some release. But be it the pleasure of numerous sexual escapades or the lovely numbness of alcohol, nothing beats the thrill of provoking Potter. Still you try, desperately trying to drown your feelings in the bottle.

It is on one of these occasions that you make the biggest mistake of your life.

You should know better than to get intoxicated around other people. Especially with Potter in the same room. But watching from afar as that red-haired Weasley bitch bats her eyelashes seductively at him, knowing that not in a million years could you do anything even remotely so obvious to show your feelings, you succumb to the whiskey.

With each glass you become more irate, ever more enraged. How does Potter dare to treat you this way, make you grovel before him like those fan girls of his, if not physically then mentally. So when you see him push the Weaslette aside and exit the room, you throw your glass aside and follow him, fists clenched white and ready for a fight.

"Potter!" you shout, stopping him in his steps, making him turn around and behold you, irritated as he barks back:

"What do you want?" he sneers, gleefully raising an eyebrow at you. "Still pissed about the game, are you? Well, you can't win every time." Potter snickers viciously, the self-satisfaction obvious as he observes your face, twisted in anger. "Oh, I forgot. _We_ win every time. That smarts, doesn't it, Malfoy?"

You have reached him, standing only inches from him, his taunt raging through your head. Your hands shake as you prepare to hit him, but as you lift your arms, the feeling of immense rage is reversed, and you end up crashing Potter into the wall, letting your lips fall on his, crushing his mouth to yours.

Expecting him to push you away immediately, you prepare for the blow, but it never comes. Instead Potter breathes heavily into your mouth, moving his body just so that it moulds perfectly against yours, sending electric shocks throughout your nervous system at the contact. You wish that it would never end.

"Harry? Harry?"

Someone's voice sounds through the air, and you pull away quickly, however very reluctantly. Potter collects himself, quickly turning his baffled expression into a vicious sneer and spitting at your feet.

"Fuck off, you freak!"

You sneer back at him, raising an eyebrow, but remaining silent. Excited, offended and confused you turn around, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. You hear voices from behind you, no doubt those of Potter and whomever it was that interrupted you. You run the entire way down to your dormitory, subconsciously letting the tips of your fingers graze your lips as you think about what just went down.

You wonder how you'll be able to kiss anyone else ever again.

The following week you find him watching you intently. He pretends not to, looking away immediately when you turn his way, but you feel his gaze piercing you constantly, burning your skin like Fiendfyre and making you feel like the most pathetic infatuated moron in history. Still, you find tremendous pleasure in knowing that he is observing your every move, and do your best to force him to continue doing so. If this kind of attention is all you will ever get, you are not going to refuse it.

Then the unexpected happens. One day he finds you in the Potions supply closet, starling you as he closes the door behind him with a bang. Quickly you force your expression to return to the neutral apathy you reserve for all Gryffindors, staring at Potter with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you up to, Potter?" you drawl, leaning back against the shelves in the nonchalant manner you have be mastered so well. Potter breathes deeply, opening his mouth to no doubt scream at you, but not a sound comes out. His gaze moves from your eyes down to your neck and chest, and his clenched fists tremble with suppressed rage, but he does not move. In spite of yourself you begin to breathe heavily under his heated gaze, hearing your breath echoing in the closed space. You observe Potter closely and finally he looks back up into your eyes. You were prepared for an attack, but now something in his eyes has changed, and that something takes your breath away.

Before you realise what has happened he leaps over the space that separate you, pinning you to the wall quite uncomfortably. Nevertheless, you are not about to complain, for he is now kissing you furiously, ravaging your lips so that you gasp with arousal, fingers digging into his shoulders from the thrill of it all. His cool hand slithers under your shirt, and your breathy moan mixes with the gentle sound of potion bottles bumping together in the shelves.

Then suddenly a bottle of Calming Draught falls to the floor, and you freeze mid-movement. Potter takes a step back, staring at you silently. You meet his gaze, swallowing loudly before you realise that you will be in much trouble if you are found here in this state. Severus was bound to hear something. Beginning to tuck your shirt back into your pants, you watch as Potter crouches down, trying feebly to clean up the shards of glass without cutting himself.

Just as you have finished making myself somewhat represent able again, Severus bursts through the door. "Potter! Why am I not surprised?"

Potter jumps at the sound, standing up quickly and looking as guilty as humanly possible. You gratefully thank Merlin that you manage to keep your own expression neutral.

"I'm sorry, sir," Potter mutters weakly through clenched teeth, glancing at you sideways and trying to get you to help him in some way. You suppress the urge to snort, only crossing your arms in front of your chest, pleased to get this small opportunity to take revenge on Potter. Some small justification for all that you have gone through because of him.

"Why is it always you who manages destruction in my classroom, Potter? Thirty points from Gryffindor, and that potion will need to be replaced. Detention at eight tonight," Severus drawls, both he and you knowing that a Calming Draught is by no means worth thirty points.

"Yes, Professor," Potter sighs, barely even able to look up and face his professor.

Severus turns to me, raising a pointed eyebrow. "Mr Malfoy, you get back to the classroom. I believe Mr Zabini has some problems with your concoction. Potter, you will stay here and clean this up. Manually."

Following Severus out of the closet, you quite smugly leave Potter to his fate.

You have Prefect duty that evening. And quite unintentionally you find yourself circling around the Potions class, think that you might, just might catch a glimpse of Potter as he leaves detention.

It gets so late that you have all but given up hope, and when you pass the main stairs you barely notice the dark figure hurrying across the floor. But when you do recognise him you cannot stop the gasp that escapes you, erupting in one harsh word:

"Potter!"

He freezes halfway up the stairs, looking for a second like he might ignore your call. You find yourself holding your breath until he finally turns around.

"What is it, Malfoy?" he grits between clenched teeth, looking thoroughly pissed and tired. Little does he know that only pleases you further.

You sneer maliciously, slowly ascending the stairs to reach him. "You're out after curfew. That'll cost you fifty points from Gryffindor and a notification to McGonagall."

The cold tension on Potter's face melts away to reveal shocked stupidity. "You've got to be kidding me!" he roars, face beautifully flushed from rage. He reaches into his pocket but searches in vain for his hall pass, biting his lip furiously as he finds his pockets empty.

"Fuck!" he exclaims loudly, turning back to you. As what seems like a last resort he looks at you pleadingly as you reach him on the stairs. "Come on, Malfoy! You _know_ Snape gave me detention, cut me some slack, will you?"

He knows his pledge is futile, but tries nonetheless. Your grin reveals how pleased you are, and you do nothing to hide it.

"I never heard anything about a detention," you lie blatantly, shrugging offhandedly. "Sorry, Potter, there is nothing I can do for you."

It is as if something suddenly snaps within Potter. Without a seconds hesitation he lunges at you, forcing you to the floor immediately. You cry out as you feel your head hit the floor, but hardly have time to react to it before you feel a fist colliding with your cheekbone. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, hissing viciously, more from the humiliation than the pain.

"You'll pay for that!" you roar, kneeing Potter in the gut so hard that he bends over in pain and falls to the side. You hurry to follow his movements, straddling him as he lands on the floor, pinning his hands over his head. He struggles beneath you in vain, and the thrill of the power you hold surges through you, and you hiss at him victoriously:

"You hit like a girl, Potter."

And you lean down to kiss him, just because you can, just because this might be the last chance you ever get.

You kiss him softly, still keeping his hands trapped above his head as you tease him, your tongue making it's way into his mouth. You nibble on his lower lip and feel his breath accelerate, the notion setting your blood into movement, and you feel your arousal straining painfully against the fabric of your trousers. Suddenly he breathes in heavily, twisting his arms from your grip, his hands coming up to tug at your collar, run clammy fingers through your hair, claw harshly at the sensitive skin of your back.

In spite of yourself you shiver at the touch, losing your balance enough to fall down upon him, your hips molded against his, and there is no question if he can feel your erection pressed against him. But you can feel his arousal too, and not a minute goes by before you are rutting together, releasing the pent up lust not only from earlier this day, but from years and years of frustrated desire, from the want that seems to have lingered with your existence for as long as you can remember. You cannot manage to care that you are in a very public place, that your proud Malfoy-mask could be ripped off and your filthy desires revealed in the blink of a second. Because you are finally getting what you wanted, what will make up for any humiliation you might have to endure in the future.

This is worth everything.

Then you feel him shuddering beneath you, and violent trembling makes your world explode. You come, find yourself repeating incoherent words in his ear, your eyes closed, mouth twisted in a blissful sneer, and you have never felt more complete and more torn apart at the same time.

You quickly roll off him, but unable to actually stand up and move you remain lying beside him on the hard floor. You breathe harshly, Potter echoing the sound, his chest rising and falling almost as violently as yours. You want to say something, but everything your mind processes gets lost before it reaches your mouth. Finally, only one sentiment seems able to pass your lips.

"I'm still taking those fifty points."

To your surprise, Potter only chuckles, moving around slightly beside you. He takes a deep breath, his voice laced with humour and such breathtaking honestly that it shakes you to the core as he answers:

"I would've given a hundred."

_finis._


End file.
